


These Bars Cannot Hold Me (They Keep Me From You)

by threefreefleas



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bilbo/Thorin established relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I just really wanted this fic okay, I needed a villan, M/M, Soulmates, Thranduil is the bad guy sorry, i love the angst, there are definite possibilities for Emotions here, they're gay and in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threefreefleas/pseuds/threefreefleas
Summary: Set during the Company's time in Thranduil's prison.I just really love it when one half of an OTP thinks that the other half is dead, but then they find eachother again!





	1. Chapter 1

Mirkwood was unpleasant. That much was obvious, so obvious, in fact, that Thorin hardly thought it beared repeating. The dark woods were filled with the scent of rot and decay, old roots writhed and tangled on the faint path, always managing to place themselves exactly in front of one’s boots at the most inconvenient point, where one was most likely to trip. Things whispered in the branches, and though Thorin was not afraid of the dark (nor was any dwarrow, for that matter; a life lived inside of mountains was not always a well-light one) it was a different matter altogether when the darkness was no simple absence of light, but rather a seething, malevolent hatred of all that dared to walk within it. No, Mirkwood was not pleasant. But the presence of the elves ( _ And how kind of them to deign to capture us _ , Thorin thought bitterly) pushed it over from merely ‘unpleasant’ to ‘tortuous’. 

 

The sudden whisper of Khuzdul caught Thorin’s attention.  **_“Where is the Hobbit?”_ **

 

Thorin’s neck cracked as he looked toward Bofur, the ropes around his wrists preventing him from turning fully.  **“** **_What did you say?_ ** **”** He whispered.

 

The elven guards looked disdainfully down on them, but did not forbid them from talking all together.  _ Bah. Let them look down on us. Many do, and still we are stronger than they.  _ Still, in quieter tones, Bofur spoke again. 

 

**“** **_I said, where is the Hobbit? Bilbo should be here with us, but I haven’t caught sight of him since our tall friends turned up_ ** **.”**

 

Thorin frowned.  **_“He must be here.”_ **

 

Bofur shook his head, concern spreading across his face.  **_“I’ve counted twice. A full dozen of us, and no more. All are accounted for, save Bilbo.”_ **

 

A sharp kick to the side caught Thorin by surprise, and he stumbled, unable to catch himself due to his bindings. The elf who had kicked him sneered. 

 

“Let that be a lesson to you, Dwarf. You are not permitted to speak until we reach the halls of the King.”

 

Thorin glared and picked himself up from the forest floor with difficulty. The party of prisoners continued to walk along, and Thorin thought on Bofur’s words. Surely Bilbo must be there with them? But he was small, and easily overlooked -- it was entirely possible that he had been overlooked in the commotion of the elves arrival. He could be free, still, and simply scouting alongside them, hidden in the forest gloom. Yet a seed of fear had been planted in his heart, which was swift to spread.  _ What if Bilbo was slain? _ A voice seemed to whisper.  _ A being so small could have easily fallen to a spider bite and been overlooked, or crushed by a falling corpse. He couldn’t have survived long in such a battle; he is weaker by far than the rest of the company, and has less experience with a sword besides. What if --  _ Thorin shook himself, throwing off such dark fears. Bilbo had little experience with weapons, aye, but he could easily hide in the underbrush and be overlooked thusly. 

 

Still, as the Elven King’s palace came into sight, Thorin’s heart ached for fear of his beloved. 


	2. Chapter 2

The echo of Thranduil’s final words to Thorin rang in his ears as the guards dragged him away from the great throne room, and past the entrance to the dungeon which housed the rest of the company. 

_ Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in a life of an Elf. I'm patient. I can wait. _

The orc-spawn was going to keep them and kill them in this prison for the rest of their lives.  _ How dare he! _ Thought Thorin,  _ How dare he!  _

Down, down the guards led him, into the deepest part of the Elvenking's dungeon. There were no torches here, no well-lit cells to deter vermin from making their homes there. Water trickled down the walls, the air damp, and choking. The tail of a rat flashed through the halo of light proved by the guard’s torches, and Thorin shuddered. 

Finally, the guards slowed. The one on Thorin’s right (the only distinction between the two of them) searched for the key to the cell while his companion twitched with impatience. 

“Make haste, Aejor! This pit is no place for an elf.”

With some relief, Maejor pulled out the keys. “Peace,  _ gwadar _ . I have found them.”

“Then let us rid ourselves of this  _ Nosgoth _ , and be done with him.”

Swiftly, they undid Thorin’s bindings, and pushed him into the cell, locking the door behind them. 

“We hope you enjoy your stay,  _ Dwarf _ .” Maejor sneered. “This dismal hole should be to your liking! I’m sure it reminds you of home!” And with a laugh, they departed for the upper halls. 

Alone at last, Thorin looked about the cell. It was small, and roughly hewn; hardly enough room for a dwarf to lie down in, much less an elf.  _ This must have been built with Dwarrow in mind _ . There was no cost to lie down on, nor even a stone ledge to keep the prisoner off of the floor; only a pile of straw, wet and green-spotted, in the corner. 

_ They mean to keep me like an animal! Caged and alone… _ at this his thoughts turned to Bilbo, and his heart seized, as if a mithril vice was closing around it. Thranduil had made no mention of the fourteenth member of their company, which by rights should have been encouraging -- Bilbo had not been caught, and so still the hope of rescue lived! -- but it only filled him with dread. Bilbo was alone, or dead. Run through or trampled by the elves where he lay, wounded, or killed by the spiders directly, his body -- more precious than all the gems in Erebor -- crushed like a stray leaf by uncaring forces. 

Thorin slumped against the side of the cell, shivering. Dwarrow were made to endure, yet robbed of his coat and armor he was no match for the damp chill which surrounded him. His eyes brimmed with tears as he fell into a restless sleep, his worry and the cold compounding his misery. 


	3. Chapter 3

_ Elves are the worst race on the face of Arda. _ Thought Bilbo, out of breath.  _ Orcs may be evil, trolls may be gruesome, but Elves are by far the worst. _

It had been a week since the capture of the Company. Bilbo had managed to stay out of sight of the guards (his ring an unforeseen blessing) but the lack of regular and adequate food, water, and rest meant that the climb up and down the stairs from the kitchens to the dungeons was less of a climb, and more of a battle. The steps had been made with warrior elves in mind, not starving hobbits. He was never alone on the stairs, either -- some elf or another was bound to come running up them just as Bilbo was about to mount the next step, and he would have to scramble out of the way, and rest once they had gone by. 

You could say that Bilbo was not fond of the Greenwood palace. 

It hadn’t taken him long to find his friends. They were being kept in the upper dungeons, their cells sturdy but clean, and Bilbo almost envied them. They, at least, had food.  _ Even if it is only twice a day. They don’t have to climb these blasted stairs any time they want a bite to eat! _ Still, Bilbo had yet to show his presence. Well-lit their cells may be, but well guarded they were, too; he could not hope to reveal himself to them without also gifting the King with another prisoner, and robbing Thorin of his chance at freedom. 

Bilbo’s brow creased in worry as he thought of Thorin, pausing in his climb. In the week he had been able to explore the palace dungeons, he had seen no sign of his love. He had been placed with the Company, initially, until that disastrous meeting with Thranduil.  _ Really, Thorin. _ Bilbo had thought.  _ You were trained to be King Under the Mountain. Didn’t you learn a little of diplomacy? Or common sense, at the very least? _ He couldn’t begrudge Thorin his hatred of the Elf King, however, he knew better than most the details of Thorin’s long rage. 

_ “You will not help us?”  _

_ Thorin’s voice sounded broken and raw, even to his own ears. He was desperate, his people were desperate. They huddled around the doors to Thranduil’s throne room, mothers hushing crying dwarflings. The older children, those who had survived, were silent. Their young eyes were empty and ashen, as if the dragon had taken their spirits along with their homes. Thorin’s heart ached to see them.  _

_ “No.” _

_ “Why?” Thorin rasped. “We have long been your allies, your friends! We ask not for homes, but for aid alone! For food and water for our children, healers for the sick and injured.” A shuddering gasp. “Please. We are desperate.” _

_ Thranduil’s cold grey eyes swept the room, taking in the remnants of Erebor in a single glance, then returned to Thorin's, filled with a strange light. “You ask for aid? For food, for water, for  _ healers _? You dare, when it was your sickness, your greed, to bring down this plight upon the Greenwood and Erebor both?” He sat back upon his throne, lounging, in complete comfort. “No, I will not help you.” _

The sound of elven footsteps on the stairs shook Bilbo out of his thoughts. His legs groaning in protest, he rushed to the side of the steps, making himself as small as possible. Someone had tripped over his foot yesterday, and it was still bruised. The footsteps slowed as they reached the landing where Bilbo hid. He could see two tall sets of legs, which in turn wore the boots of Thranduil’s guardsmen. They too seemed out of breath, and uncharacteristically relieved. 

“I am glad that that’s over with.”

“I as well, Aejor. The Pit is never a pleasant place to be.”

“I’m sure our guest-” 

The other guard spat in disgust. “Pah! I am glad to be rid of him. That dwarf prince was more trouble than he’s worth.”

If Bilbo hadn’t been pressed against the wall he would have fallen down completely. _Rid of him! Dwarf prince!_ _It can’t be -- they couldn’t have -_ And yet it made sense. Despair filled Bilbo as he stifled a sob with his coat sleeve. 

Thorin was dead. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this to procrastinate physics homework, so chapters will be pretty sporadic and short. Sorry! 
> 
> Kudos and Comments GREATLY appreciated.


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